


The benefits of ruined sheets

by jamlockk



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Time, Fluff and Smut, Idiots in Love, JLAC2015, M/M, Sharing a Bed, Smutty Santa Exchange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-26
Updated: 2015-12-26
Packaged: 2018-05-09 14:43:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5543792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamlockk/pseuds/jamlockk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“The sofa will not do you any good and without proper sleep you will be grumpy and irritable tomorrow. I have no plans to rest tonight, therefore you will take my bed.”</p><p>John looked at him warily. Sherlock held his ground, waiting until whatever internal battle was being fought in John’s head ended. A flicker of something that was more than trepidation but less than fear flashed across John’s face, chased by several other emotions which appeared and disappeared just as quickly. John sighed, rubbed his face with one hand and stood. </p><p>“Fine, but if there’s anything unpleasant in there,” he said, pointing over Sherlock’s shoulder, “I am bringing it back out here and inserting it in you.”</p><p>John needs somewhere to sleep so naturally Sherlock offers his own bed. *eyebrow waggle*</p>
            </blockquote>





	The benefits of ruined sheets

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Irrevocably_Sherlocked](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Irrevocably_Sherlocked/gifts).



> This is the silly shameless smut I wrote for the delightful Snoggy. Enjoy!

Sherlock glanced up at the sound of the front door slamming. He closed his eyes and counted. 15, 16, 17… John stepped into the flat looking mildly the worse for wear. Four, no five pints with Lestrade; soggy, disappointing chips for tea, walked home in the rain (why doesn’t he ever carry an umbrella?), cold, but seems fairly contented. 

John wandered into the kitchen and poured himself a glass of water, smiling as he watched Sherlock bent over the microscope. Sherlock fiddled with the resolution a little, pretending not to be listening to John shuffling about and swallowing behind him. In truth, the sample on the slide had lost its appeal the moment he heard the front door opening and John returning. 

“Don't stay here all night,” John said warmly as he headed for his bedroom upstairs. “You’ll get a neck cramp or something.”

Sherlock hummed quietly and watched John leave. He sighed and switched slides. This distraction was becoming a problem; his focus was always divided when John was present. He could work around it, but the desire for John’s proximity was troubling. Lately he’d found himself drawing closer, just craving the feeling of being near to John as he puttered about in the flat, making dinner or typing abominably slowly on his blog (which of course Sherlock would not admit to reading avidly). It had begun to be noticed more on cases, too; Sherlock had always stood too close to John anyway, but Lestrade’s raised eyebrows on Met burglary case showed just how transparent Sherlock’s behaviour was becoming. The itch to close the physical distance between them was maddening. Suddenly it wasn’t enough to simply be in the same flat, in the same room. Sherlock wanted to be closer somehow. He wanted all of John, and to give John all of him, such as it was. He wanted John to break him apart and put him back together, and he wanted to do the same for John. He had no idea what to do about these feelings and simply ignoring them seemed to be getting less and less effective. 

Sherlock was startled from his thoughts by a loud shout from upstairs, followed by a colorful stream of curses. He frowned and was just standing up to investigate when John came thumping downstairs, making for the linen cupboard. He was muttering under his breath, more cursing. 

“John?” Sherlock called. 

John came back into the sitting room carrying a bundle of spare bed linens. He strode over to the sofa and dumped the bundle in a heap. 

“Roof’s leaked upstairs,” John said wearily. “All over my bed. Mattress is sodden, so I’m sleeping down here tonight. I’ll call a roofer in the morning.”

“I see,” said Sherlock, watching as John bent down to undo his laces and toe off his shoes. John humphed under his breath and shed his jumper. Sherlock’s mouth began to water and he hurriedly glanced away. Plain white t-shirts did not usually cause that reaction, but plain white t-shirts stretched pleasantly over John’s broad, sturdy chest certainly did. 

Sherlock looked back into the sitting room and assessed the sofa with a critical eye. He could spend many an hour reclined on the leather cushions, but the creaky old frame and lumpy stuffing would wreak havoc on John’s bad shoulder. Unacceptable. 

Sherlock got up from his chair, experiment forgotten. John was wriggling around with his duvet, trying to find the optimum position in which to sleep. Sherlock snorted as he grabbed the corner of the duvet and yanked. The optimum position for John to sleep was clearly in Sherlock’s bed. Obvious.

“Sherlock,” John growled warningly as he sat up. “Not in the mood right now.” Sherlock swallowed and ignored the flare of heat in his belly at John’s gruff voice, pulling harder on the duvet and striding off with it towards his bedroom. He heard John sigh and pull back, making him stumble. Sherlock let go with a huff and placed his hands on his hips, posture impatient. John smirked at him. 

“Honestly, John. Childish.”

“Says the overgrown four-year-old trapped in a thirty-something’s body.”

Sherlock resisted the urge to stick out his tongue. He cleared his throat and gestured down the hall to his bedroom. 

“The sofa will not do you any good and without proper sleep you will be grumpy and irritable tomorrow. I have no plans to rest tonight, therefore you will take my bed.”

John looked at him warily. Sherlock held his ground, waiting until whatever internal battle was being fought in John’s head ended. A flicker of something that was more than trepidation but less than fear flashed across John’s face, chased by several other emotions which appeared and disappeared just as quickly. John sighed, rubbed his face with one hand and stood. 

“Fine, but if there’s anything unpleasant in there,” he said, pointing over Sherlock’s shoulder, “I am bringing it back out here and inserting it in you.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and managed to cover his blush as John sauntered past and shut the bedroom door. Sherlock stayed in the hall for a moment, listening as John shifted in the sheets, making himself comfortable. Sherlock’s bed was much bigger, firmer, and warmer than John’s, his bedclothes soft and light. His sensitive skin could not bear rough textiles in slumber and Sherlock preferred to sleep naked so as to better regulate his temperature. Sherlock flushed anew at the thought of John curled up in sheets that had sheltered his nude body. 

Tearing himself away from the distraction of John in his bed, Sherlock went back to his slides in the kitchen. Focus, he told himself, as a restful quiet settled over the flat once more. But focus was elusive and when it did come it was turned only on the man currently dozing in Sherlock's’ bed. He found himself wondering how John looked in sleep; was he stretched out on his back, or curled on his side? Was he warm enough, or cool enough? What did that marvelously expressive face look like as he slumbered? 

Grunting in frustration, Sherlock pushed back from his microscope and placed his hands on either side of it, flat to the table. The smooth wood beneath his palms was cool to the touch, and he closed his eyes. 

Just one moment. Just one glance to satisfy his curiosity and then he could be back to pursuing his slides once more. Decision made, he quietly made his way down the hall to his bedroom and pushed open the door. 

Sherlock was not at all prepared for the rush of warmth, comfort and affection which flooded through him at the sight of John nestled in his bed. It just looked...right. Like John belonged there. His face was relaxed and the sheets moved gently with each soft breath. John had curled onto his right side on the bed, leaving space behind him for Sherlock to crawl in and wrap himself around John, stroke John’s hair and kiss the back of his neck, and John would smile in his sleep and roll towards Sherlock and - 

Sherlock was at the foot of the bed before he realised what he was doing. He startled and jumped back, astonishment on his face as everything he had been trying to ignore became instantly crystal clear. 

He was desperately in love with John. 

Frozen in panic, he didn’t hear John waking. 

“Sh’lock, just get in if you’re tired.” John mumbled sleepily. Sherlock’s mouth dropped open and he blinked, still frozen as John pulled back the covers and then promptly fell asleep again. Everything Sherlock hadn’t realised he wanted, here in front of him, waiting for him to lie down in bed? He couldn’t take advantage of John’s sleep-addled brain, offering nothing more than a comfortable place to rest and yet he couldn’t retreat to the kitchen or the sofa; he wouldn’t get a moment’s peace from thoughts of John. 

Cautiously, Sherlock lay down, a long way from sleep but unwilling to give up the opportunity to observe John. He settled in and listened to John’s steady breathing. The light from the streetlamps spilled through the gap in the heavy curtains, the only illumination in the dark room. John sighed and shifted beneath the covers. Sherlock fought the urge to wrap himself around John;s sleeping form and rolled over to face away from temptation. Despite himself, he found his eyes drifting closed as the regular breaths behind him soothed in their gentle rhythm. He was soon deeply asleep. 

\------ 

Awareness crept back in slowly. Sherlock squeezed his eyes closed and tried for a moment to claim back the restful peace a couple hours’ sleep had brought. Twisting his mouth in annoyance, he resigned himself to waking fully and began to take stock of where he was. 

He felt warm, and inexplicably, safe. He was cocooned in a wonderful embrace, soft puffs of breath ruffling the curls at the nape of his neck, a broad chest pressed against his back, and arm slung about his waist. He sighed deeply, contented to stay put, his mind hushed, and wriggled back a little into the comforting presence behind and surrounding him. There was a happy sigh from behind him and he gradually became aware of a hot, heavy feeling pressing into his bottom. Curious, he pressed back against it, causing another contented hum to emit from John. The feeling was pleasant so Sherlock wiggled again, and felt his own cock stir, rapidly hardening ad he realised what he was doing. 

Oh God. John. That was….That was John’s-

“Mmm,” John sighed, tightening his arm around Sherlock’s waist and pulling him back even closer to John’s body. A groan escaped Sherlock’s lips before he could stop it. John began slowly, maddeningly, grinding his hips into Sherlock’s arse. The heat of John’s erection pushing and sliding between his cheeks through his pajama bottoms was intoxicating and Sherlock struggled not to reach down under the waistband to touch himself. He could feel the pleasure building in his belly and groin as John huffed and rutted into his arse, humming low in his throat. It was impossible to resist, and biting his lip to muffle any sounds he might make, Sherlock snaked a hand down into his pajamas. He shuddered in John’s arms as he began to stroke, whimpering when John started to press sleepy kisses into his curls. 

“Mmm, Sh’lock,” John mumbled through a mouthful of hair.

“John,” Sherlock whispered desperately, trying to hold back his orgasm. Suddenly John snapped awake and hurriedly let go, shuffling away to the far side of the bed. Sherlock couldn’t help the whine that rose up in his throat as cold air rushed in at his back. He stayed on his side and took his hand out of his pajamas. 

“God, Sher - I’m...I’m so sorry,” John said. 

“No!” Sherlock cried, “John! Don’t-” John was pulling away, embarrassed. But he must want...must feel something? Please, Sherlock thought. He cleared his throat. 

“John,” he whispered. “It’s...It’s all fine. Please?”

John inhaled sharply. Sherlock closed his eyes and waited, feeling close to tears and horribly vulnerable. He didn’t dare move or speak. Despite his pyjamas, he felt exposed, and even though he couldn’t see John he could deduce the thoughts chasing themselves around John’s mind. Please, Sherlock thought helplessly. 

The bed bounced a little a John threw himself across the mattress, wrapping his body around Sherlock once more. He was muttering something as Sherlock reached back to grasp John’s arse and pull him closer. It was too much and not enough for both of them. Hands fumbled with t-shirts and pyjama bottoms and pants and suddenly there was flesh against flesh, mingled groans, kisses in curls. 

Sherlock dropped his hand back to himself only to have John bat it away with a growl. When John’s hand closed around his cock, Sherlock cried out. 

“John!” John growled in his ear and Sherlock’s cries of pleasure grew louder and breathier, his voice unsteady. A litany of “yes” and “oh” and “John” rushed from his mouth as John stroked him hard and fast, rutting against his bare backside in time with his fist on Sherlock’s cock. Sherlock turned his head, desperate to kiss John, but he couldn’t reach. He huffed in frustration, wanting to roll over, but unwilling to lose the feeling of John’s hot cock sliding over his cheeks. John’s rhythm was faltering and he growled again before letting go of Sherlock’s prick to roll him over. 

“I want to see you,” John panted as he slotted himself into the space between Sherlock’s thighs, lying on top of him, his weight pressing Sherlock into the mattress. Sherlock nodded, panted a “yes, John”, and groaned. When their erections finally came into contact they both gasped loudly. John steadied his weight on one arm and brought his other hand up to Sherlock’s face. 

“Lick,” he instructed. Wide-eyed, Sherlock swiped his tongue across John’s palm again and again, glorying in the taste of John’s skin. He laved at John’s hand and sucked his fingers, groaning in delight as he wetted John’s hand with lavish strokes. Above him, John moaned and shuddered, closing his eyes. 

“Jesus, Sherlock, your mouth,” he grunted. John withdrew his hand and wrapped it around their cocks, sliding up and down steadily. Together they gasped and grunted, Sherlock’s mouth dropping open at the sensation, breathless gasps spilling from his lips. John kept up a steady pace and Sherlock felt his orgasm building quickly, rushing him towards completion. 

Not yet, not yet...he tried to tell his body. The intense pleasure sweeping through him was becoming too much and he tried desperately to hang on. He couldn’t come first, not yet…”John!”

Sherlock tumbled over the edge, crying out in ecstasy and spurting hotly over John’s hand and their bellies. 

“God, Sherlock,” John breathed, “that was so...I - I’m gonna...I have to kiss you, please!”  
Numbly, Sherlock nodded, thrilled as John’s mouth crashed into his. Their kisses were sloppy and messy and he felt John’s body stiffen as his cock began to pulse against his own. He was over sensitive and twitchy but Sherlock wouldn’t have traded the feeling of John coming in his arms, all over them both, for the purest 7% solution. 

Breathless, euphoric, they lay in the soiled sheets, still exchanging lazy, chaste kisses. It struck Sherlock how silly it should feel, covered in each other’s come, yet kissing shyly. He felt an urge to laugh, barely suppressed. 

John lifted himself off of Sherlock’s sticky body and Sherlock finally dared open his eyes. John’s expression was a mixture of joy, amazement and apprehension. The laughter that had threatened died away and Sherlock raised a hand to cup John’s beautiful face. He wanted that apprehension and uncertainty banished, gone for good. 

A warm smile broke across John’s face at Sherlock’s touch and he let Sherlock pull him down for a proper kiss. Their mouths met, lips bruising, tongues stroking, for long minutes. The urgent desire between them was banked for now, in its place a fierce adoration. 

Finally they parted, flushed and uncomfortably sticky. John glanced down at his hand with a bit of a grimace. He looked back up at Sherlock, who raised an eyebrow and tilted his head in the direction of his stomach. John laughed and got up, bending to scoop up a discarded pair of boxers from the floor. Using them to clean his hand and the mess splattered across his belly, he then wiped tenderly at Sherlock’s body. He dropped the boxers on the floor and lay down beside Sherlock, not touching him. They lapsed into silence. 

“I can’t help thinking we did that in sort of the wrong order,” John said quietly. Sherlock hummed. 

“There’s always next time,” he replied. John gasped and Sherlock cursed his loose lips. Hurriedly, he tried to recover. “That is...I mean...I…”

“Hey,” John said, leaning up on one arm. He cupped Sherlock’s jaw and turned his head so that their eyes met. “I’m hoping for many next times,” he admitted softly, “if that’s alright with you?”

Sherlock nodded, speechless for once, until John chuckled and took pity on him, closing the gap and kissing him, his touch full of promise. They parted again and John flopped down with a wince. Sherlock frowned; the whole point of John being in his bed in the first place had been to avoid hurting his shoulder! Heat, heat would help sooth John’s aching muscles. And they could both do with getting cleaned up. 

Sherlock sat up, nose wrinkling at the tacky, dried sweat and come on his chest and stomach. “I need a shower,” he announced, getting out of bed and stretching. He walked to the bathroom door and stopped, turning to look over his shoulder shyly. He extended his arm to John, who was looking a little lost among the rumpled sheets.

“Join me?” Sherlock asked softly. “I’ll rub your sore shoulder and… any other parts of you that ache?” John’s grin could have lit all of London. 

“Sounds perfect,” he answered. “Should have made a hole in the roof ages ago!”

Hands entwined, they made their way to the bathroom, kissing between giggles. The roof repairs could definitely wait.


End file.
